


the games that I can handle

by apatternedfever



Category: The Devil's Carnival (2012)
Genre: Gen, Knifeplay, Knives, mentions of shitty life before the carnival, mentions of torture in the carnival, really nothing much worse than canon though, the carnies are a big screwed-up family, theory that the carnies used to be people is a go in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 22:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apatternedfever/pseuds/apatternedfever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wick loves her knives. Always has. And here, nobody minds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the games that I can handle

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt, Wick and knifeplay. Which really just turned into Wick and knives.

The things she finds pretty have always been wrong, she knows that. If she wracks her brain, searches her memory, she can find some passing recollection of the girl, then the young woman, she used to be, and she was always wrong. Always found something too entrancing about the flash of a knife, about the feel of it in her hand, about the power of dragging it across someone's skin, for anyone she wanted to do it to to feel quite comfortable with her.

Even in the carnival, she's wrong more often than not. She's loud and obvious and brash and blunt, and she says the wrong thing, does the wrong thing, breaks people the wrong way. She doesn't have Doll's talent for frustrating and fucking their brains, doesn't have the Scorpion's charm or even the Clown's weird friendliness. She makes their master mad a few times too often and she doesn't always remember all the rules.

But here, at least, they accept her, even if they don't understand her. They love her, like family's supposed to, unlike the fucked-up obstacle course her first family was. And, at least, they understand her knives.

Nobody looks twice if she sits off by herself, shining them and cleaning off the handles with a care she doesn't take with anything else, except her girls. Nobody cares if she's smiling brighter when flesh gives way under her blades than she ever does any other time. Nobody minds that she's never without them. They don't all understand, but they don't stop her, and they let her play.

Scorpion challenges her to throwing contests -- his aim is better, she never was much for throwing them and she likes them up close the best, but hers always hit harder, stick deeper. The Twin offers her his arms and his back, lets her slash as hard as she wants, lets the blood flow freely and uses it to mark his cards. Doll offers her pretty back too, but Wick's more careful with her; she's so pretty, like a painting, covered in marks, and she does her best to match the kind of art already covering the woman. She's never had the patience for delicate work, but with Doll she tries. Even the Ticket-Keeper doesn't say anything, even gives her knives confiscated off of guests (they're against the rules for them, but not for her, and she almost cried the first time he explained that rule didn't apply to her).

It's strange here, and maybe she still doesn't always fit. But she fit worse where she used to be, and now, here, she's got knives and her girls and sometimes a brass band and a game to play, and that's more than she ever had before.


End file.
